


At Wayne Manor

by gaymien66



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 06:54:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29274270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaymien66/pseuds/gaymien66
Summary: Tommy was left upset after his drunken father had come back in no-good state, and heads to his friend Bruce Wayne in the dead of night.
Relationships: Thomas Elliot/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	At Wayne Manor

He didn’t know what hour of the night it was.

He couldn’t sleep- Well, he  _ was _ asleep, for maybe an hour or two, before his father came back in a drunken stupor. Could taste it on his breath, on his face, the way he moved and shouted at his mother, loud enough to wake him up. His damned attraction to curiosity and general worry got him out of bed, and of course, subjected him to too much pain for a 9 year old boy, leaving him back in bed with an ache to his body. Didn’t dodge that well today, despite what his mother had been teaching him, but he managed to trip his father onto the floor where he didn’t get back up, his drunken state forcing him to pass out there and then. His mother scolded him, quite severely, and sent him to his room. But as he said, he  _ couldn’t sleep _ . Too busy thinking about his father sleeping on the ground downstairs. Too busy feeling every single part of his body ache, the absent taste of blood in his mouth. But no stitches across his forehead today. That was  _ last week. _

Couldn’t go downstairs. Couldn’t run out the front door and find somewhere more safe to stay- The least safe place in the  _ world _ would always be his bed. This damned bed- Large, of course, the room was actually quite elegant. But with limited personal materials, not so much of a toy in sight. His mother told him that too many material things were bad for his heart and soul and would turn him greedy and sour. But this was life, and this was  _ family _ . He was… His mother was quick to assure him he’s lucky to be alive. Lucky to have a family like his, but he rarely felt lucky. Bruce was like him, too. His family was rich, more so than other kids at school. Which was why they got along so easily.

Unsafe in his own house. His own room. His own  _ bed _ , why did he feel so safe when he was with  _ Bruce _ , weary of his parents, oftentimes he just got to sit down with him, happy enough to play soldiers or chess or any other game. His parents rarely bothered him, but they were always kind. Happy to offer food or snacks or even a  _ holiday _ to  _ Metropolis _ . Unable to sleep, whimpering through tears, he pushed past it to the large window that framed his bedroom in a moonlight night. He could see Bruce’s house just in the distance- Was never far, just out of reach. In the end, he managed to get himself dressed in clothes good enough to keep him warm, and down the ivy that climbed up the walls of the old Elliot estate.

So, as you can expect, he didn’t know what time it was. Late, he figured.

Sneaking into Wayne Manor’s courtyard was easy. He’s done it dozens of times- Albeit, mostly while playing with Bruce- there were several places that were easier to climb the face, and a few places with a gap large enough to fit a small child. That's the way he went, around the back of Wayne Manor and wandering until he found where he was  _ pretty sure _ it was Bruce’s bedroom, and he stopped, shivering in the chill of Gotham’s night, only just catching himself in the realisation that he was crying. He should stop crying.

A few rocks by Tommy’s feet, he picked some up with his small hands, shaking, and carefully raised to throw towards Bruce’s window. Missed the first time, and retrying, he hit it on the mark. No response. I took a few more stones before the window was pulled open, and a sleepy, beheaded Bruce Wayne pushed his head outside to try and find the cause of the noise, before finally settling on the ginger-haired boy he called his friend. It took a solid few moments of staring, mostly in confusion by the look on Bruce’s face, before the darker-haired boy called out; “ _ Tommy? _ What are you doing here, shouldn’t you be asleep?” Tommy took another moment to stare, gripping his coat sleeve tightly with a shake of his head.

“I just wanted to see you, can- Can I come in?” His voice was frail, dying out with a painful crack.

“-Are you okay? Uhm- Wait there,” Bruce responded, not giving Tommy much time to respond before the window was slammed closed, his gaze lowering down with a silent pressure. He should head home. What if mum notices he was gone? Or- Or dad, or-

The sound of the front door being pulled open and the small boy waving to him- in his pajamas with a pair of fluffy blue socks, calling back out to him, in a hushed voice, “You have to be quiet, mother and father are still sleeping. You can come up to my room, okay?” Tommy nodded in response, a soft sniffle coming out as he fell into a short sprint to get inside, Bruce closing the door behind him with the comfort of the warmth of the Wayne home, the entrance hall a familiar sight, even if it was pitch black. He felt Bruce tug on his arm to pull him back towards the stairs, trying not to trip over himself. “You should call before you come again, Tommy. I was sleeping, and throwing rocks isn't uhm- The most polite. I think Alfred wouldn’t be very happy with it. Are you staying the night?- Have you been crying? Do your parents know yo--”

Tommy suddenly yanked his arm away from Bruce at the last comment, biting his lip anxiously with a shake running through him, making Bruce blink in surprise. The younger of the two, by a few months mind you, gently putting his hand on Tommy’s shoulder, the touch feeling foreign compared to the bruises he could feel just under his clothes. Too soft. He squeezed his eyes shut, not responding to Bruce’s more gentle voice, eventually Bruce giving up and guiding him back into Bruce’s bedroom. The light was on.

“I wanna stay the night,” Tommy mumbled out, not responding to any of the other questions. Bruce tried to take his coat. He let him, wearing messy pajamas underneath. He couldn’t make eye contact with Bruce, feeling- Scared. Not of Bruce. Bruce felt like a bubble of  _ comfort _ . “I had a bad dream,” He lied while Bruce was hanging his coat up on his bedroom door, Bruce turning back to him with a blink of concern. At least Bruce understood nightmares. 

“Do you wanna talk about it? When I have a bad dream, mother makes me a cup of hot cocoa with cream on top. I don’t know how to make one of those- Doesn’t  _ your _ mum?” Sounded nice. But he shook his head, standing awkwardly in the middle of his room, pulling his sleeves over a bruise on his wrists.

“My mum usually reads Aristotle to me and-”

“What's Aristotle?”

“-Nevermind. I had a nightmare that uhm…” He trailed off as Bruce stepped back to him, gently grabbing his wrist, ow, and guiding him to the bed to sit him down. “Someone very important was hurting me and it made me very sad ‘cause I coul- couldn’t do anything about it,” he glanced over to Bruce as the bed shifted under him, Bruce laying on the bed and climbing beneath the sheets, looking up to him with those deep blue eyes. He’d turned the light off at some point. He wasn’t sure when. The moon from the window cast a projection of the window frame, a soft blue light. It only helped to light up Bruce’s eyes. He smiled back at him, even if it was strained.

“Sounds scary,” Bruce admitted, pushing the sheets open to invite Tommy to lay down with him, and his heart swelled, biting his lip with a quiet pause. He shifted, laying down beside him with caution, taking a long breath to feel how it felt compared to his own bed; Laying with  _ Bruce _ , his family, father, nowhere in sight. And he slowly relaxed, Bruce gently grabbing his hand under the sheets, and he sniffled out a quiet weep, pushing in closer to wrap his arms around the small boy, “Tommy…” Bruce mumbled out, leaning into the touch. “It’s okay to cry, you know. Mother told me that it gets all the bad feelings out and you feel better after…” Tommy gripped onto Bruce’s clothes with a quiet nod, pressing his face against his chest.

“...Tommy,” Bruce mumbled out, sounding half asleep against the silence, feeling his small hand brush against his hair, pulling his face back to look him in the eye, blue against green, He looked shocked and worried against the presumed swelling of his eyes, lips trembling and- “Is your nose broken?”

Oh.

The pain that ached in his body was quick to come back at the reminder, nose throbbing painfully as he stared like a deer caught in headlights not knowing how to respond. He opened his mouth to try to respond, Bruce pulling away to climb out of bed. “-Where are you going?” Tommy eventually got out, his voice cracking, somehow wondering how Bruce hadn’t shouted at him. Isn’t he mad?

“Getting you some ice. Wait there, ‘kay?”

He did. Mostly because he stiffened up in anxiety, sat up slightly with his breathing off key, his ears ringing painfully as he fell into a short rocking on the bed. He didn’t know how long it took for Bruce to come back in, shoving the door closed with his hip, holding a towel that presumably had ice hidden inside, and he yawned as he crawled back onto the bed. He pushed the towel against Tommy’s nose, the cold shocking him out of the unsteady breathing he fell into. He looked to Bruce’s blue eyes once more, with more trust than he started the night, his eyes wet with tears. “Who did this?” Bruce questioned with a soft voice, patting the cold towel against a train of bruises on his pale skin.

“Mnh,” Tommy mumbled out, tearing his eyes away with a fidget of the blanket in his lap. Panic caught back up to him. He couldn’t tell him. Bruce couldn’t  _ know _ . It was a  _ secret _ . It was a secret and he couldn’t tell  _ anyone _ , not even Bruce. 

_ ‘Now, Tommy, the Elliot’s keep their secrets. Do you understand?’ _ His mothers voice rang out in his head.  _ ‘You can’t tell anyone about our family. You know what Aristotle says: Learning is not child's play; we cannot learn without pain. This is for your own good, you’ll understand when you’re older. You’ll thank me and your father.’ _

“I-I can’t tell you,” He eventually stuttered out, turning his head as Bruce brushed the ice against his neck, the bruises trailing easily down onto his chest. It was the school holidays. It always gets like this over the school holidays. He tensed up, Bruce gently moving to unbutton his shirt. Somehow, he trusted him. “But it’s not… It’s not that bad,” he tried to excuse. “I don’t think anything’s  _ really _ broken, and… and…” Bruce was quiet, confused as he looked to him, and down to his chest. The bruises got worse where you couldn’t see them, under his clothes, black and purples and greens all swirling in together. “I-I’m sorry-” He tried.

Bruce shook his head, and more heroically, without judgement, hummed out. “Don’t apologise, Tommy. I’m just worried. I’m gonna be a detective one day, if you won’t tell me, I’m gonna work it out myself,” He smiled, kinda dorkily, considering he was missing one of his front teeth. Tommy smiled, nodding rapidly with the ice pressed against his chest. It eased the pain- Or, at least numbed it further. He was used to it. Used to ignoring it, that is. His smile dropped.

“You can’t tell anyone,” Tommy mumbled out, “I might get hurt more if someone finds out. Can it be a secret?”

Bruce paused, biting his lip to consider it. “Only if this happens again, you’ll come back and I can take care of you,” He declared, keeping the icepack there as he gently moved to lay Tommy back down, pulling the blanket back over the pair of them. He seemed pretty content with the ice pack on his chest. Cold, but with Bruce pushed against him, it felt safe. He stared up at the ceiling.

“...Yeah, Bruce,” he whispered out. “I promise.”

“And I promise things will get better, my dad said so…” Bruce assured him, his eyes closed, “And he  _ also _ said that if someone ever bothered me, I shouldn’t be scared to hit them back ‘nd make them stop.”

…

He didn’t respond, letting the suggestion repeat in his mind with his breathing stiffening up. Soon enough, Bruce was asleep besides him. He wasn’t sure when he fell asleep, his thoughts considering it and  _ considering it. _

The next month Tommy came back to Bruce’s door after a car accident that killed his father.


End file.
